Not even on the radar
by movesthroughmoonbeams
Summary: "It's always been her. Always." - Onesided Kurt/Finn. Post-Journey. Spoilers up to Journey and some spoilers for Season 2. Rated T for depressing themes.


**Hey, back with another fic, yay second one (: . This one's actually moderately depressing so... yeah.  
Though I don't actually think this (to me Kurt/Finn is just gorgeous) but I imagine its some of the sad drabble Kurt would be feeling in "Journey" with all the Finchel going on.  
And what Kurt's perspective on his relationship with the oh-so-mysterious Sam will be like in my opinion.  
Oh yeah, anyone want a oneshot of any sort?  
Preferably a Glee one, since I'm kind of on a Glee kick right now (have been for months xD).  
As much as I adore Kurt/Finn I'm willing to do any pairing you want.  
Dokkay, just leave a review if you want one C: **

**Spoilers: Mild, up to "Journey."  
**  
**Disclaimer: No, I do not own Glee. If I did own Glee Kurt and Finn would have hot make out sessions, Jesse would be better discovered as a character, and Puckleberry would happen.**

-

It's always been her.  
Always.  
I hated to admit.  
I tended to spend my free time thinking of every possible loophole, use that sharp logic of mine people so often describe as "bitchy" -they're all Neanderthals- to twist and bend my mind into thinking hoping anymore was even a possibility.  
But it didn't work. It was bound to happen.  
Everyone knew it would; it was the classic high school cliché of the 2000's; nerdy, pushy school girl and devastatingly gorgeous jock, who was albeit slightly... awkward in some aspects, but charmingly so.  
After Regional's it was just _going _to happen. They were "star-crossed", the Romeo and Juliet of Glee, hell, the Romeo and Juliet of the whole damn 21st century.  
I'd seen it. I'd seen the moment backstage, I hadn't seen the whole thing, now I'd like to say the reason for my leaving was because the moment was personal and a moment for Finn, and because I love –_loved_ Finn I was willing to leave such a scene just because he was so _damn_ happy then.  
But no, the real reason I left, the real reason I tore my eyes away from that dopey grin I loved so much was because that grin wasn't for me, it was for her. And that hurt.  
It hurt so much I felt my heart finally fail me, finally cave into itself as I just sat there gawking in horror at how much destruction an overheard small, choked, impulse-driven "I love you" could do.

In Glee, when she laid her pretty little head on his shoulder, he looked at me. For a second my heart, which had felt oddly nonexistent at that time, skipped a beat just to tell me it _was_ me he was smiling at. Now, if my heart was a person, I'd shake it until it's head rolls, yell in its ears how I _knew_ that already, how I knew every damn thing that boy did, and how it should just grow up, move on and learn to be happy for others.  
So that's why, when he shot _me_ one of his loose smiles, the only thing I would allow myself to do was smile back.  
I wouldn't burst into tears, tear Rachel's eyes out, kick and or destroy something, or somehow implant dynamite into her body and watch as she spontaneously combusts; as nice as those –especially option four– would have been.  
I had to move on,  
or at least make people believe I was doing something of that effect.

So that's why when a nice, passably handsome boy, who I'd never really noticed before, called Sam asked me out, I leapt on it like a lion to a baby gazelle.  
He was my chance to move on.

Or, at least make people believe I was, correct?

So that's why when I happen to glace upon the sweet, awkward in-between-class kisses between my favourite jock and his favourite girl, I definitely _don't_ notice the way he smiles into her lips, the way his eyes are all starry when they break away, and the way he somehow notices me every time.  
The way he sends that trademark grin and the way I send my reassuring one, wondering how he _doesn't_ notice the tears running down my face that _aren't _there.

So I can move on.  
That's why I have Sam, correct?  
Yes, Sam is gorgeous. His eyes are a remarkable shade of blue that tend to match anything he or I are wearing, and his hair is soft and blonde and shaggy.  
When he comes to my–mine and _his_ house, I pretend he isn't leading me into my shared room with someone I think about too much with his hot, heavy pursuit of passion.  
I pretend I'm _not _imagining Sam a head taller, wider, more awkward, and I'm definitely _not_ running my hand through his hair and tugging on his clothes pretending his hair suddenly got much shorter turned brown, pretending his clothes are the daggy, casual clothes I usually find myself staring at in the closet during Sam's kisses.  
And I definitely _don't_ pretend his eyes are those brown puddles of chocolate when they stare into mine.  
Because, there's a sudden moment where Sam professes his love for me and all I can do is cry because I realise his eyes are blue instead of brown; and when he asks me what's wrong, if this is too soon, if he's done something wrong, all I can say is he should leave.  
And i definitely, definitely don't pretend I'm using Sam, pretending he's someone he's not, and crushing him ruthlessly in some kind of romantic and twisted ambuscade.

I don't pretend that's happening because I know it is.  
And I know he deserves someone better, and one day, maybe when I get out of this hellhole called Lima I can tell him, maybe by then things would have changed and I'm not still in love with someone who's not mine, maybe by then Sam'll find someone who loves him _back._

So, can you tell me, If Finn is Romeo and Rachel is Juliet, who do I play in this timeless love story?  
That's right. No-one.  
I'm the one left in the audience, still clinging to wishes which have been imbedded into countless stars. But, do you know what happens to stars? They fall; they burn, most of the time they never even collide with our beautifully decaying world.  
So does that mean the wishes die with them?  
Of course not, I would know, because even now, as I'm being held in the arms of a beautiful man I'm thinking of someone else. The only thing I can't have and the only thing I never will.  
Finn Hudson. 


End file.
